That Which Everyone Would Die For
by Six Fingered Kin Party
Summary: He had me from the very first time we met, fool that I am- but in the inertia, it was worth it. 80s Boyfriends (Felix/Turbo), oneshot. / 2015


I still remember what they said, back then. It's bit-chaser, now—as in 64-bit chaser. For a while there, during the 90s, it was poly-chaser. For a while before that, it was bit-chaser again—but that time, it was as in 16-bit chaser.

But in the beginning, it was hit-chaser.

When a character only chased the characters from popular games, that was what it was. Sometimes, y'see, folks'll look anyplace for somethin' to disapprove of. I don't know why. I guess a lot of it stems from truth—some characters do only want the high-def partners. I know _lots_ of guys 'n gals only wanted Turbo because he was hot stuff.

But not me.

Truth be told, it was him that made the first move. I know most folks didn't believe me when I told 'em that. But t' be fair, I didn't really believe it either. What would a guy like him see in a guy like me? I was his exact opposite. I wasn't anything he like what he liked, and I knew what he liked: speed, energy, fame. He liked things that went fast. He liked things that went _bang_. And me? I'm just a simple Southern gent. At day, I fixed things. At night, I spent most of my time with the Nicelanders.

To be fair, I guess that was really before he was plugged in. We met that very first day; I remember him walkin' into the GCS like he owned the place, and I guess in a way by the end of it he kind of did. Plenty of folk didn't take too well to him because of that. I didn't have any illusions about his behavior, no—I knew he was arrogant and I knew he was cocky and I could tell right away that he _loved_ the attention. But I could tell right away there was the good too, and I've got to mention this because nobody else ever does. He wasn't just arrogant, he was courageous. He wasn't just cocky, he was kind. He was a love him or hate him kind of a guy, and people like to forget it but plenty of 'em fell into that first category. You have to judge all of a person.

All of Turbo was incredible. From the moment he first sauntered in and looked about the Game Central Station and said, "Turbo-tastic!" At once I liked him, and I think at once he liked me too, because even though there were a number of characters all coming over to check out the new fellow, I was the first one he greeted, with a smile that could melt steel.

Later, he sought me out. I guess it wasn't hard, being as my game's named for me. I remember the Nicelanders' reactions; Gene never liked anybody outside our game, and Turbo was no exception. Mary tried to mother hen everybody, and Turbo was no exception to that either. Everybody else was just a little confused about the visitor. He was like nothing we'd ever seen.

I remember our friendship—just as a friendship—that didn't last long. A few weeks, I guess, a month. We hung out at Tapper's or I'd come to visit him at Turbo Time, you know? I treasure those memories, all the laughs, all those silly things he talked me into doing—one day he convinced me to help him steal all of the dots from Pac-Man, and poor Pac-Man and the ghosts were frantic until he put them back. They never knew what had happened.

Land knows how, but he always somehow made these things sound like good ideas. There too, I know I'd have done anything for him. Maybe it was just because I was so young, but no—he'd always had me. He'd won me over with that first smile. The courting was practically a formality. But I guess another thing people like to forget is that he was kind of a gentleman. I can't speak for now, but I know back then that it would have been degrading to him to treat a partner any way but well. He had my heart on a string, but he always treated it with care.

We first kissed in Turbo Time in the garage. I remember it felt like that was what we'd been building up to since we met. There wasn't too much surprise, no flinching away. It's still so vivid in my mind—his hands were warm and the air felt thin and cool, and we just...

...I miss those days. His arms around me, what it felt like to rest my head against his chest and feel the warmth of his code racing through it.

That was when the whispers started:

"Hit-chaser."

I had no idea what that meant at first. The arcade was still young, you know. And I still don't know if that phrase was made up just for us, or if it was some slang that came from a used machine, one of the ones that saw a couple weeks at some other arcade before finding a home at Litwak's. To be fair, I never did try to find out.

I did ask a neighbor what that _meant_, the first time I heard it. Those whispers felt like the end of the world, back then. I know _that_ was because I was so young. At the time, I felt like everything and everybody mattered so much.

Of course, then there were the folks, good meaning I think, that thought _I_ was too good for _him_. He was something of a trouble maker. Lots of people liked me, because I tried to be a good neighbor, to live up to the title of "good guy." But a lot of 'em failed to realize one simple thing: he just _loved life_.

Turbo didn't mind the whispers. He sort of figured all publicity was good publicity. He didn't care so much what people said, so long as it was about him. But me, I'd never gotten looks like that before then. I'd never _had_ people whisper. At first, Turbo laughed. But I remember—I'll always remember, because somebody needs to—that when he saw I was upset, he softened up, and he told me anybody gave me trouble, he'd straighten 'em out. He told me the nay-sayers were jealous. "Of me?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"Of both of us," he told me. "We're a power couple."

He was so different from me, and so many people would say I'm naïve, but I know he meant it when he said he loved me. They can say I'm silly or give me their pitying looks, though I'd prefer 'em not to, but I _felt_ it. That's something you can't fake.

That day he taught me to race. I ended up donning his helmet and he set me in the seat of his cart, perched himself up behind me, and with his trademark energy he explained to me exactly how it all worked. He said I was a natural. Somehow his praise meant so much to me.

You know, even Jet and Set said it at first: "hit-chaser," "messed up." They hazed me plenty; at first, I sorta figured they thought I wasn't good enough for Turbo. They and he had a relationship like siblings; they always cared about each other, even when they didn't want to. I had a lot of opportunities to see them interact, you know, and I saw them fight and play and race with both affection and aggression. I figured they saw me as just some two bit (pardon the pun) fixer from the next game over.

But that day they stopped. I'm not sure why, really. Maybe I was wrong about their resistance to the relationship; maybe it wasn't me they were doubting. I think at the end of the day they understood better than I did why Turbo loved me. I never asked, and now... now I just can't anymore.

I've asked Turbo what it is that made him choose me, but he always just grinned and answered, "you." And when I'd ask why, he'd laugh and reply, "why not?"

But I was never one of the ones who doubted.

After not too long I just forgot to worry about it, and we kept on goin' just the way we'd been. He took to visitin' Fix-It Felix Jr. often enough, and we'd while away the hours down by the lake. He'd chase the ducks and I'd fish. He usually pushed me into the water—once I did return the favor, not quite able to understand the impulse but not quite able to resist the urge. Maybe he was rubbin' off on me. At first he just looked surprised, and then he laughed and pulled me in with him.

When we chose to sleep, we usually shared a bed, most often in the apartments of Fix-It Felix, Jr. Surely that right there was proof of heaven, laying together, listenin' to each other breathe.

We were happy. I was happy.

And then came Road Blasters.

I have wondered so often what it would be like if that game had been plugged in on the other side of the arcade, or if it had never been plugged in at all. So many nights I've laid awake thinking about it.

Newcomers to the arcade always mean a slow day, as all the players go to check out the new machine. It's just part and parcel of the job, really. But Road Blasters was different. Had there ever been another racing game in the arcade, besides Turbo Time? At that point, never.

That day, Turbo Time barely got played. That night, Turbo was hysteric. My lands, I'd never seen him like that before. There too, he'd never not gotten played before. He never cared too much if people didn't like his game up until then, because there were so many players who _did_, he just sorta figured they were wrong. I can hear his voice in my mind clear as a bell: "It's another racing game, Felix! I'm gonna get unplugged!"

At the time, I tried my best to console him—reminding him that they said those things about _all_ the new games, how great the gameplay was, how real the graphics were, and they'd be back, sooner than later. "After all," I told him, "how could they not come back to the greatest racer ever?"

"Right," he'd told me, "you're right. I don't know what I'm so worked up about."

"Power couple," I reminded him, and I offered him a fist bump, and he laughed because I looked so awkward doin' it, but he took it anyway.

I _thought_ I'd calmed him down. We went down into the game Fix-It Felix Jr. and to the lake where we'd spent so many lonely hours together. He even pushed me in.

And maybe I can be forgiven for that, for not guessin' what was coming. He was behavin' so _normally_. But I should have known when he kissed me that night. We were in the water, and he took me in his arms, and he... he'd never kissed me like that. I knew something was wrong, but I let him go anyway.

In retrospect, I knew he'd do anything for fame. I guess I'd just never realized "anything" included _that_. "Going Turbo," you know. I think he'd probably have liked that phrase. It immortalized him.

When I looked across the aisle the next day at the other game console, I didn't know what to do. I can only be grateful, I guess, that Fix-It Felix Jr. wasn't being played at the time, because if it was, we would have been unplugged for sure. I think the Nicelanders were staring. I know bricks had stopped falling from above. All I could do was watch.

There was Turbo, in Road Blasters, but I swear it didn't look like him. There was a horrible, crazed look in his eyes. It all felt so unreal. The worst part was, I had never ever seen him that way before, but at the same time that look was so _familiar_. But Land help me, I never saw it coming. I hope he saw me, reckless fool. I hope he knew everything I was thinking, because I've had to think it over and over for years now and because it turns out all along he could have come back.

I'm not sure how I got through that day, watching two plugs pulled and watching the games be carted out while Litwak watched, his hands folded as if he was attending a funeral. We were only played a few more times that night and I don't remember more than brief moments of it.

_How could he?_ I thought, over and over. How could he do that to me, just abandon everything we had and leave me alone? How could he do that to the twins? Did they cross his mind at all? How could he do that to _himself_? What would make him do something so wild?

I'm less sure how I got through the night. I remember runnin' out into the GCS, screaming for Turbo; I remember asking everyone I saw and not gettin' better than an "I don't know." I cried.

Thirty years, an empty bed.

I don't sleep much anymore.


End file.
